


Slack

by ZiLCH_GJE



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Platonic Affection, Strider Brothers, Strider Feels, Strider Manpain, Unrequited Love, and lack thereof, guilt complexes, idk wtf that means but manpain seems like a good word to use, just fuck me up fam, love complexes, painful fluff i guess, really really painful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZiLCH_GJE/pseuds/ZiLCH_GJE
Summary: (i hate the epilogues and wrote this from spite)Dirk learns that love doesn't have to hurt.





	Slack

_ Cut him. Some god. Damn. Slack _ .

 

An unusual thing to course through your mind, but, perception gets the better of you again.

Being perceptive is quite a skill you have. You’re so good at it, it usually becomes self-loathing and self-doubt. Able to look into the feelings of others but unable to change your own actions. And you hate yourself for it. 

_ Kind of because he is the original, you know?  _

If that's so, what a shitty shitty original you are. Dave is such a good remix track. You don't want…this. Whatever this is. This weird, gross feeling of being ‘the original Strider’, that one that this tiny boy before you has spent his entire life trying to live up to. 

Original…

Original what? You’re not exactly a good role model for anyone. You sure as hell weren’t in his childhood, as far as you’re concerned. Your worst fear is that you’ll probably just grow up to be that kind of person again. If anything, once it happens, you hope someone just immediately kills you when it does.

It’ll probably be him. He’s killing you as it is, now. The way he looks at you when he talks, the way he smiles, the way he spins in circles and paces aimlessly… god, it’s so painful to look at. To look at him and his adorable habits of chattiness and assure yourself that you don’t love him. Because maybe you do. But if you do, you’ll hurt him. For sure. It always turns out that way. Don’t say a thing. Just keep nodding.

“You get it, right?” he goes on, throwing his arms open in exclamation, “the Nico-Nico-Nii is actually a symbol of Nico’s insecurity and overzealous pride! She uses it to cover up the secrets and the show she has to put on for her siblings but it’s an amalgamation of the parts of herself that she hates!”

You should never have gotten him into Love Live. But he seems to be having his own fun, so what’s the harm in it.

Beneath you, the doorbell rings. Dave moves to the edge of the roof and looks down.

“Oh hey, Roxy’s down there.”   


“Huh?”

“Hello love!” Jane calls up to you, waving.

“Dirky, get down here and let us in, dimwit!” Roxy giggles, plate wrapped in tin-foil in hands.

Oh shit, yeah, you’re holding a dinner tonight. It was Rose’s idea. She’d wanted to hold a Hannibal Lecter-esque dinner party just for the excitement of it (but decided, because your place is bigger and can accommodate more people at a table, that you should hold it). Calliope’s providing mystery meat and everyone’s bringing a plate of mystery snacks. You’re preparing the courses yourself because you know what, you’re actually a pretty good cook. Dave’s been over for the past five hours helping you prepare the damn dishes. And you’d finished everything about forty minutes ago and spent that past forty minutes on the roof, talking about anime.

He does a lot for you. A lot that you don’t seem to return.

Going back inside and downstairs, you let the ladies in and they help you set the table with cutlery and coasters and such. “Callie’s gonna be late, by the way,” Roxy mentions, straightening a fork against a knife, “she wanted the meat to look perfect so she stayed at home a little longer to finish it.”

“Better save her seat then,” you say, grabbing pen and paper from the kitchen to write down her name and fold it over her placemat. She’s between Jane and Roxy.

Drinks are set out in bottles, with glasses at everyone’s right hand. Wine is presented, as well as sarsaparilla (which Rose always argues is called pop, to which Jane argues is called soda and then there’s Karkat who argues soft drink. None of them know what they’re talking about.) for those who can’t stand the taste of red. Terezi is part of that list; she says dark red colours aren’t nearly as nice as bright reds. They’re more brown and taste like things no one would rather taste.

The doorbell rings again and you go to answer it. Rose and Kanaya have arrived, dressed to the nines, each a delicate plate of beautifully made bite-sized  _ what the fuck are those  _ under a glass cover in their hands. You don’t know what they are but they look edible.

“Evening, ladies,” you step aside and welcome them in, “please leave all plates in the middle of the table.”

They walk in calmly but chatty and the girls already arrived meet to talk to them. You pull Kanaya aside momentarily to tell her she looks stunning. “Thank you dear,” she acknowledges, admiring her handiwork, “we watched  _ The Great Gatsby  _ last weekend and I decided I  _ must  _ make a dress in that style.”

“It suits you perfectly,” you say and she nods knowingly. You wish you had her confidence.

Which reminds you. This  _ is  _ kind of a formal event so everyone’s going to be in fancy dress. You’re not dressed yet, you’re still in jeans and your t-shirt. You tell Jane that you’re going to go upstairs for a moment to change, if she could be so kind to help Dave set up. She nods and it’s up the stairs you go.

You haven’t worn your suit in a good, long while. It’s been hanging quite to the left of your closet, untouched for the past few months. You’re kind of glad Rose had this dinner party idea because you finally get to wear it again. You do feel rather special in it.

Pulling out your shiny brown shoes from the back of your shoe-shelf, you pull them on and stand in front of the mirror. “You can do this, Strider,” you cough up shakily, suddenly unsure of yourself.

First button of your shirt undone, hair pushed through and left gently tousled for once, you leave a breath of cologne on your chest and make your way back to the kitchen. Dave is already dressed too, bowtie and tux, and you wonder how long you were gone. He looks so cute.

You answer another doorbell and it’s Vriska with her girlfriend Terezi (neither of them have a plate in hand because they’re too cool for that), who seem to have met up with Jake and Jade on the way. Jade dashes up behind them, everyone crushing against you into the doorway. “Sorry, sorry!” Jade shrieks a bubbly apology, Vriska stepping carefully out of the way. Jake manages not to spill the plate of savoury-flavoured, cake-ball-looking-things, despite his infamous clumsiness. He chuckles and shoves you the plate, ruffling your hair (and probably almost ripping it out with his big Man Fingers) and leaving it to resemble one of Robert Klippel’s art pieces. “Aaahh, Dirk, old bean, how’ve you been?” he gasps at you, grabbing you by the shoulders like if he lets go, all your bones will fall out of your skin.

“Who’s uncle is this?” you tease him, like you’re the youngest sibling at the family gathering and the last time you met the man crushing your shoulders was when you were nine months old. He laughs heartily, head lifted and eyes closed with finding hilarity in your conversation, pulling you forward and roughly kissing you on either side of the face. He always does that, then abruptly walks away to curse everyone else with it. It’s kind of embarrassing, but he’s your friend and also as dense as he is sensitive so nobody tells him. Jane welcomes him in and they hug and kiss. Like you, Jake is family oriented. However,  _ unlike _ you, he is open with it.

You suddenly feel quite jealous.

In the kitchen, you realise Calliope and Karkat have arrived and he’s being all hands-on with Dave. It’s cute. They’re so cute. God, you wish that was you. You wish you were in a relationship. You also wish you were comfortable enough with your own family to cuddle them. You’re distracted from your jealousy from Jake and Karkat when the doorbell rings for the last guest.

The last guest is John. You mentally prepare yourself for this one because how you appear to him is absolutely crucial. You run your hands through your hair once more, tug your collar, smooth down your blazer and with a deep breath, swing open the door.

“Hey.”

“Hi!” he peeps up, chirpy and obviously excited for the party. He’s dressed all sweet and lovely in his blue shirt and pinstripe slacks, put together neatly with a tie and his lovable, nerdy, square glasses. It’s terrible. He looks terrible. His hair isn’t even combed. God, he’s hot.

“I um, brought cupcakes,” he holds to your attention, a plate, covered with a glass bowl and tied not-so-securely-but-rather-quite-clumsily with a bow, “I didn’t know what else to bring.”

“Ah, thank goodness,” you gratefully take the plate and admire the beautiful pink, blue and white icing delicately yet somehow sloppily squeezed onto each cake, “when Jane didn’t bring any, I got a little worried about what we’d do for dessert. Thank you.”

He giggles and you just about fucking lose it. But not quite yet. He smiles up at you and you smile back, a little toothy, crooked at one side. Everyone knows you like John. But whether John knows you like John is a mystery.

He breaks from your shrouded gaze and coughs diligently and you let him in. He’s greeted by his family and friends and you let him go, placing the cupcakes somewhere on the table. Everything is set out now and the main courses are waiting in the kitchen.

Everyone’s settled at their seats, making polite and excited conversation, waiting for the dinner to start. You feel like letting everyone just go ahead and eat doesn’t fit the theme your darling baby sister is aiming for, so you pull up your empty wine glass (which you probably won’t use) and knife and clink them together. Could make some sick beats outta these chimes. You make a mental note to use them in a track some other time.

"I'd like to say a few words if you don't mind," you speak up over the table, setting down your glass and knife, “first of all, thank you everyone for coming and for filling the table. Kanaya, your… whatever they are, they're delicious, thank you."

She nods gratuitously, jewels on her dress jangling lightly, long earrings swaying.

"I'd like to thank my sister Rose," you continue, looking past Kanaya to her wife, "for the idea of a dinner party. She said it was, uh, Hannibal Lecter inspired?"

"The art of serving unknowing guests to human meat always impressed me," she answers, as if that’s a completely normal thing to say.

Everyone chuckles, if slightly nervously, considering no one actually knows what meat Calliope always brings with her. But no one's gone missing so it's probably fine.

"Yes," you mention, "well, anyways…"

You actually take off your shades for this, which always surprises you because of how bright the real world is. Everyone oohs and aahs in hushed tones, surprised at your quick blinking and you chuckle, shrugging it off casually.

“And I realise that a lot of the time, I don’t thank the people I care about enough. So, I’d like to thank everyone here, old friends, new friends, family and relatives-in-law for sticking around for me. It’s true I don’t say it very often but I...uh…”

The bright lights on the dining room are really getting to you and it kind of hurts. You’ve been wearing these shades all your life, taking them off at any moment blinds you. But you continue.   
  
“Care for you all. And am grateful for your friendship.”

You rub your eyes when they feel dry and some of them go  _ aawww _ , typically Terezi and Vriska, who are just making fun of you.

“What no,” you interrupt, “my eye was itchy, stop.”

And everybody laughs. You raise your glass above your head, “Here’s to tonight and the good times ahead.” Everybody raises their glasses too and with gentle cheering, all clink to whoever’s across the table and beside them.

With a smile, you let the dinner party begin and start serving plates of your courses. Between meals, people pick at the gifts on the table. You notice Jake and Kanaya’s mystery, bite-sized pieces disappear very quickly. Terezi says something about having forgotten candy-apples and Vriska laughs it off. They didn’t bring food but it’s kind of comforting they were planning to and just forgot instead of being rude. You all have a laugh and tell them it’s fine.

It goes on for hours. Someone turns jazz on the speakers and everyone breaks into some sort of jazz number in the living room. It’s rather entertaining, seeing John and Jade desperately trying to learn how to dance in time, just spinning each other round happily like children. While Rose and Kanaya seem to actually know how to dance together, Dave and Karkat are slowly learning from them. Jake grabs you at some point, spinning you around giddily, passing you to Jane, who passes you to John. You’re nervous but he seems to be having tremendous fun.

To your surprise, after dancing, all the wine has disappeared. You’d bought an extra bottle just in case, but you honestly didn’t think all three of them would disappear. Jake is drunk off his rocker and with how clumsy he is, Jane, level-headed and without a glass, guides him gently away after the party. You thank them for coming and send them off. Everyone else trails after them, Terezi and Vriska’s beautiful blue suits stained somewhere with something that looks like mustard. Terezi’s tie is around her head like a sweatband and Vriska is rather dishevelled with her shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up but you pay it no mind. As long as they had a good time.

After kissing Calliope, Roxy, Dave and Karkat are the last people around. Your darling sister promised to stay around to help clear up and without her, you would have left it until morning. Dave is absolutely smashed, even more so than Jake and won’t stop giggling. You have a feeling a majority of the wine went down his throat. Which you don’t mind, you needed to get rid of it and you hate the stuff.

They’re about to clear out when he runs up and hugs you. Tightly. His arms clamped around yours, head over your shoulder, rocking you slightly from side to side. You’re trapped.

“Uh, what’s with this?”

“I don’t think I say that I love you enough,” he coos, all syrupy and stupid, “so I just wanted to remind you.”

Ow.

“Me too.” you awkwardly lie. Yeah, it’s a lie alright. It’s totally a lie. You are so  _ good  _ at  _ lying _ . You’re so aggressively good at it, you should be given some kind of award or something. ‘Best At Lying, Dirk Strider’ fuck yeah, your name would look so good on that.

Snapping you out of your daydream, he pulls back, looks at you, and out of nowhere, pecks your lips. Your heart flutters. You try to hold back the pout crawling onto your lips and remain cool and emotionless but you’re pretty sure you just look constipated. He hugs you just to hug you. He kisses you just to kiss you. Granted, he’s rather drunk, but what more could you ever want.

Dave giggles. “You’re lovely,” he presses into you, puckering up and being all mushy-gushy with you, “we’re gonna go now. Thanks for having us, I love you.”

“You too.” you say, almost timidly, and let him go. He takes Karkat’s arm, and giddily, they exit the premises. You watch them go. And feel something pull tightly in your chest.

Finished with the last dish and glass in the kitchen, Roxy approaches you. Something solemn in her eyes, concern is writing her features. “Does he know?”

“Does he know what?” you try.

“That…” she breaks, closing the door behind, “well, you like...don’t really try, do you?”

Internally, you groan. With exasperation of this conversation, which has barely started but is already making you tired and annoyance at yourself for getting caught. What did she even catch?

“He kissed you,” she looks to the side and crosses her arms, “he said he loves you. You’re not gonna...return that?”

“He’s perfectly happy, isn’t he? What is it I’m not giving him?”

“More like what you’re not giving us,” and flips her hand gesturely, “Dave’s told me about this. He only didn’t bother to notice then ‘cause he was kinda drunk.”

“Notice what?” now you’re just getting pissed off and it’s showing in your voice, tired with announcements and ‘nice weather lately’s. She recoils.

“Dirk, a lot of our friends have talked to me about this and I’ve found it to be a huge problem too. We all love you...like...a lot. But it seems as though you’re not bothered to return that.”

“Huh?”

“Even Rose brought this up.  _ Rose _ . Dirk, you know her, the only person she’s ever open with is Kanaya. But it’s a family problem and she needed to speak to her family about it but none of us really know how to confront you.”

“Are you accusing me of someth--”   
  
“Yes!” she shouts, bringing her arms down beside her. Her fists are clenched. “We get it, some other, more unfortunate version of you made Dave’s childhood living hell but that  _ wasn’t you. _ You’ve made mistakes in the past and you’ve hurt people, we’ve all hurt people, but we fixed those problems. You don’t need to hold back from loving us just because of some dumb fear. We just wanna care about you but all you do is reach the first bar and then dig holes to avoid the rest! What is it you’re scared of?”

You honestly don’t know what to say to that. Part of you wants to admit she’s right and ask for help on fixing it but another part tells you that would be uncool and babyish. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re fucking twenty-one and haven’t got a grip on physical affection or familial love. Is that because of your lonely upbringing or something else from the more recent past?

Roxy takes in a deep breath and, as if the argument got her dirty, wipes down the skirt of her dress. She flicks her eyes open and doesn’t hold back from looking directly at you and into your soul. Even with your shades on, Roxy is inescapable. It scares you, but you love it about her.

“Dave is going to live with you for a while,” she demands, standing her ground in decision, “and when I check on you next, I wanna see progress.”

She moves to the chair her jacket is hanging from and pulls it around her shoulders. “Goodnight, Dirk.” and walks out the door, letting it loudly swing shut by itself.

You’re alone in your house now, accused, attacked and knowing damn well it was deserved. She’s right. She got everything spot on. She was mean and angry and she had every right to be. Out of all your family, Roxy is the most touchy-feely. You, who doesn’t know what the fuck your way of showing affection is, can see how she (and others) feels left out from your life. You grew up with Roxy. Went through pain with Roxy. Looked up to Roxy. Watched her struggle and battle and grow distant and grow warm and hurt herself, hurt her friends and hurt you. And then you watched her apologise and fix everyone else’s problems and get you back on your feet. You love her. You do.

When tears begin to stream down your face and make you stutter your breath like a huge bitch who recently got divorced, you know you can’t deny that. You would rather run a sword through your own dick than hurt Roxy.

What choice do you have? You’ll spend the time with Dave. However long it takes. Even if it takes five years, even if he begins to hate you, you will not deny her challenge. You will keep trying until ‘I love you’ can slip out easier than a soft dick from a well-fellatioed mouth. Bad analogy but you’ll do it.


End file.
